STEPHANIE'S DOMAIN
by
SUSANNA HUGHES
Stephanie's Domain first published in 1993 by Nexus. Published as an eBook in 2011 by Chimera eBooks.
ePub ISBN 9781780800493
mobi ISBN 9781780800509
www.chimerabooks.co.uk
Chimera (ki-mir'a, ki-) a creation of the imagination, a wild fantasy.
New authors are always welcome, or if you're already a published author and have existing work, the eBook rights of which remain with or have reverted to you, we would love to hear from you.
This novel is fiction - in real life practice safe sex.
This work is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. The author asserts that all characters depicted in this work of fiction are eighteen years of age or older, and that all characters and situations are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.
Copyright Susanna Hughes. The right of Susanna Hughes to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Chapter One
Stephanie lay on her stomach on the sun lounger. She was naked. The Italian sun was hot on her back, shining down from a cloudless blue sky on to the terrace of the castle bedroom. Below, and surrounding the island castle, Lake Trasimeno reflected its light. There wasn't a hint of a breeze, the waters of the lake as flat and untroubled as the surface of a mirror, and the canopy of vegetation, dripping from the walls of the castle, was still too, though the heady perfume of jasmine and bougainvillea filled the air. The only sound was the gentle lapping of water against the pillars of the jetty below and at the front of the castle, and the soft squelch of flesh on flesh as the man's strong hands massaged the thick sunscreen into her back.
He knelt at her side, naked too but for the hard leather-covered metal pouch that was chained tightly over his genitals.
He worked conscientiously, smoothing the glutinous white cream into her shoulder blades, down over her slim hour-glass waist and rich fuller hips. From the small of her back her tight neat buttocks rose precipitously. His hands followed the tantalising curves, feeling her plump flesh rippling as he spread the cream out with his fingers. As he worked down from the round summit to the lower slopes, where the buttocks joined her long shapely thighs, he could see the deep channel between her legs, fringed by stray pubic hairs as dark and black as the long hair she had pinned up off her shoulders. He massaged the cream into her thighs.
He tried not to look, he tried not to think, he tried not to feel. There was no room for an erection in the metal pouch.
She opened her legs. Now he could see it all, the whole slit of her sex from the puckered corona of her arse to the long thick labia folded over her cunt like the petals of some exotic flower protecting the stamen. The matted abundance of her pubic hair was plastered down with sweat and did not hide the details of her sex. He tried to concentrate on his task. He squirted more cream from the spout of the bottle on to her thigh. Using both hands he massaged it into the perfectly smooth, already tanned flesh. He worked conscientiously, spreading the white cream evenly across her thighs and down between her legs. He worked it right up until he could feel pubic hair brushing the sides of his fingers. She had complained before when he hadn't dared go that high. Then, with relief, he moved his hands away, down to her slim calves and pinched ankles.
His relief would be short-lived, he knew. As soon as he'd finished her legs she would turn over. Then it would be useless to try and prevent himself getting an erection as she made him massage her breasts, her belly, and the top of her thighs. The hard metal pouch was unyielding. There was no room for expansion. It would be agony. It had been last time.
Stephanie turned on to her back and sat up to reach for her Cartier sunglasses. Her firm breasts trembled, the nipples flattened into the flesh by the pressure of her weight. Through the sunglasses she looked at the slave. He was hot, his face red, sweat beading on his forehead from his exertions.
'Hot work Paul,' she said. It was not a question. A round metal disc hung on a light chain around his neck. It was inscribed with his Christian name.
'Yes, madam.'
Stephanie lay back on the lounger, immediately feeling the heat of the sun warming her body. She stretched, her arms above her head, her back arched off the padded mattress.
Paul knew better than to start before she had ordered it. He tried not to look at her. If only she hadn't been such a beautiful woman...
'Get on with it then,' Stephanie ordered.
He squirted the cream from the little nozzle of the bottle on to her upper arm. He did her arms first, right down to her fingers. For her right arm he had to lean over her body. No matter how he tried to avoid it, her breasts grazed his stomach and his side. The nipples, given their freedom, had erected. He could feel them. He wished he couldn't.
Stephanie knew what he was going through, knew his cock would be pushing against the unforgiving metal chained around it so tightly. It was, after all, part of the punishment. Paul had been at the castle for two months. He had been caught embezzling from one of Devlin's companies. It was a simple choice, like all the other slaves at the castle: the police and, inevitably, prison - or the castle. Paul had chosen the castle. At this minute it was a decision he was probably regretting.
He massaged her shoulders. Her shoulders were wide, finely-boned, the hollows of her collar-bone in contrast to the fleshy richness of her breasts.
'More oil,' she said.
He squirted the cream in great gobs on to her chest between the firm mounds of her tits, then worked it into the flesh, feeling the corrugated nipples under his palms, feeling the rubbery, spongy mass respond as he kneaded it. He tried to forget the other times in his life he'd kneaded breasts like this. Other times he'd worked his hands from breasts to navel, as he did now, until the tips of his fingers touched the perfect triangle of pubic hair. He tried to think of anything, cars, cold water, computer programs, anything but what he was doing. It was impossible.
He was on to the top of her thighs now. She parted her legs slightly. He could see the folds of her labia again. He really wished he could take his eyes away but he couldn't. Her labia seemed to be smiling at him. A cruel, knowing smile.
The worst was when she had the slaves wank her. Every morning a different slave - men and women - brought her breakfast on a strict rota. Sometimes she wanted nothing more. They set the tray down and fled gratefully. Sometimes, like now, they were made to oil her in the sun (the male slaves prayed for an early winter). Sometimes she lay naked on her bed and had them lick every inch of her body, then use their mouths and fingers to wank her. That was the worst for the men.
Sometimes, rarely, she had them fuck her. She would free them from the pouch. That was the best and better not thought of.
'That's enough,' Stephanie said as Paul reached her ankles. Paul stopped instantly and with relief. Not that stopping relieved the pressure of his cock as it pushed hopelessly against the hard metal shell. Not that, despite himself, he could stop looking at the beautiful naked body, oiled and shiny, that was stretched out before him, so close he could feel its heat.
What he wouldn't have given to be able to free his cock from its constriction, strip off the pouch, plunge into the depths of her sex, which was so close at hand. He knew how it would feel, wet and tight and hot.
'You may go,' she said breaking into his painful reverie.
'Oh
thank you, madam.' He scrambled to his feet as quickly as he could.
'Does it hurt, Paul?'
'Yes, madam.'
'Perhaps you made the wrong choice.'
'No, madam,' he said firmly. Whatever the discomfort the alternative would have been worse.
Stephanie watched him hobble away. She closed her eyes and relaxed, the hot sun creating a feeling of wellbeing that perfectly matched her mood. The last weeks had been among the most contented in her life. Now that she had been able to enjoy the pleasures of her new life at the castle, now her revenge on Gianni was complete - made more complete every day by the accounts of his divorce in the courts, his failed attempt to get his hands on even the smallest asset, and his wife's recent instigation of a case against him for criminal fraud in the running of their company - Stephanie had been able to concentrate on what to do with the responsibilities and power she had been vested over the castle.
It seemed like years ago - though in fact it was only months - since Devlin had first brought her to the island castle in the middle of Lake Trasimeno in Italy, since he'd first shown her the cellars and the slaves, since she had, literally, enslaved him as well, and he'd asked her to stay and run the castle for him. She had never thought of herself as having any particular sexual bent. In fact, she rarely used to think of sex. It was something she did because it was expected of her; she enjoyed it, she got pleasure from it, but like breathing it was not something she had paid much attention to.
But that had changed. Something had made her change - suddenly. She had no idea what. She had developed an urge to find out, to explore the undiscovered country. She had bought books and read them avidly. And when she had studied the theory she progressed to the practise. She found a man - or did he find her - to take her to new territory. And then there was no turning back. She had crossed an invisible line, a Chinese wall. There was so much to learn. So much to discover about herself, about her sexuality: she had discovered pleasures, and feelings, and sensations unlike anything she had even dreamt of, so different from the sex she had experienced previously. But more than the discovery of her own pleasures, she had found she had a talent, an ability to read the sexuality of others, to reach into their sexual psyche and extract its deepest secrets, secrets that were perhaps even unknown to them.
That is what had happened with Devlin. His sexuality had always been complex, his excitement and arousal dependent on factors he had only half understood. Stephanie had changed that. She had discovered the key to Devlin's libido. The master of the castle, the master of a multi-million-pound business empire, the master of all he surveyed had actually wanted to be a slave - her slave.
But Devlin's enslavement had been intricately bound to her own sexual development. At the castle Stephanie had found that power - the power to dominate, to control, to command - was in itself an aphrodisiac. Slowly at first, she had come to realise that the sustained and heightened pleasures she was so readily experiencing came from her position of power.
Like now. She was sexually excited, as she lay in the sun her body glistening with sun oil, because she had played the role with Paul, had teased him, played with him, made him her slave. She knew it had made her wet. She didn't need to dip her fingers between her nether lips to know what she would find there. An oozing wetness. It was the power. Power over her slave. Power to tell him to go away or stay. Power to have him do whatever she wanted him to do - to her, for her. Lick her, suck her, fuck her. Anything, and everything. There were no taboos, no inhibitions. It excited her. The thought and the reality thrilled her.
She squirmed slightly, thigh against thigh, exerting a faint pressure on her clitoris. She took one of her tits in her hand and squeezed it. A pang of pleasure shot through her.
There she stopped herself abruptly, stayed her hand from roaming down to her clitoris. She looked at her watch. The Phillipe Patek that Devlin had given her, its case as thin as an after dinner mint, lay on the little white cast-iron table by the lounger. It was ten o'clock. At eleven Devlin would be coming up to say goodbye. She should save herself for him.
At quarter to eleven Stephanie hauled herself to her feet and went inside. In the Carrera marble bathroom she showered the oil off her body and dried herself briskly. The sexual tension in her body had not abated: her self-control had made it more piquant. She was very much in the mood for Devlin.
Devlin was off to New York on business for at least five days. It was a big deal, something he'd been working on for months, he'd told her. But Stephanie had decided his schedule would have to be delayed: her priorities came first. The plane would have to wait for him. Wasn't that one of the advantages of having a private jet?
Stephanie felt wickedly capricious. She walked, still naked, to the wardrobes that lined one of the walls of her palatial bedroom. What should she tease him with today? Something smooth and silky, feminine and soft; or something hard and cruel, in tight black leather?
She searched the drawers built into the wardrobes, looking for something to take her fancy. Something did. She pulled out a garment she had brought in Rome at the very special lingerie shop she had discovered in the back streets. Made of a sheer black material woven with Lycra, it fitted her body tightly. The full bra moulded itself to her breasts, the material stretching down over her waist to end, at the front and side, in four spikes of suspender. At the front it barely covered her navel, at the back it finished abruptly in the hollow of her spine leaving her arse exposed.
Stephanie pulled the elasticated material down over her body. As soon as the material was stretched it became almost entirely transparent. Though her breasts were completely covered they were, at the same time, visible; every curve and detail, including the nipples and the circles of her areolas, were apparent under the shiny veil of tight black nylon and Lycra.
Sitting on the bed Stephanie opened a packet of the sheerest black stockings. Like the tight girdle - corset, basque, she didn't know how to describe the garment - the stockings were woven with Lycra too giving them a wet slippery look. She rolled them up over her legs until the black welt at the top of each bisected her thigh. She clipped them into the suspenders, the tautness of the elastication pulling them tight.
She slipped into a pair of black high heels and admired the effect. The heels shaped her calves, pinched her ankles more, tipped her arse into the air so it seemed to be pouting. She stood in front of one of the many full-length mirrors. The areas of her body that were exposed looked, by contrast to the flesh covered by the tight nylon, somehow more naked, creamy, soft. Her arse, the tops of her thighs above the stocking, her shoulders, so available, so rich.
She took a pair of black lace panties from a drawer full of panties of every type and colour, stepped into them and pulled them up over her hips and on to the wide curve of her pubic bone and the long slit of her sex. She ironed them into place with her hand, making them comfortable, fitting them between her legs, smoothing them over the mounds of her buttocks.
Devlin knocked twice, tentatively. Right on time. Eleven o'clock precisely.
'Come...' Stephanie said, letting the tone of her voice reflect her mood, and smiling at herself in the mirror. She looked like she felt, excited and hot. She wiped the smile away and replaced it with a scowl as she turned to watch Devlin shuffle in.
Devlin was an incredibly ugly man. His body was short and misshapen, his trunk too long for his height, and his face scarred with pockmarks. It was dominated by a huge bulbous nose, which was veined and hairy. Thick, wiry white hair grew in profusion from every inch of his body, from his nostrils, from his ears, even from his back.
'Stephanie - my God you look wonderful,' he said as his eyes devoured every detail.
It wasn't what she wanted to hear.
'Did I tell you to look at me?' she said sternly.
'No.'
'No what?' Her pretended anger thrilled her. The game had begun. Devlin's head went down, his eyes staring at the carpet.
'No, mistress.'
; 'That's better. Get your clothes off, and quickly, Devlin,' she snapped.
'Yes, mistress.'
He hadn't expected this. He felt his erection growing, his excitement instantaneous. Not for one second did he think of not complying. She was in control. When she was in this mood, there was no telling what she would do. His heart was beating faster at the thought. Quickly he stripped off his shirt and tie. By the time he unzipped the fly of his trousers his penis was eager to be free, as hard as a rod of steel.
He pulled his boxer shorts off and shifted from foot to foot to pull off his socks while his penis bobbled about in front of him. Stephanie had seen it many times but could never quite get used to its monstrous proportions. Nor its ugliness. It was gnarled and twisted and veined, like a rotten tree trunk curled with ivy.
She would never forget the first time he had thrust it inside her. Never.
He stood naked, uneasy, not sure what to expect, his penis standing out from his matted wiry pubic hair, a tear of Cowper's fluid already formed at its tip. All thoughts of the world outside, his business, his schedule, his trip to New York, had disappeared. His world had shrunk, encompassed now entirely by the extent of Stephanie's commands.
'Well, Devlin, what am I going to do with you? You come in here as though you've forgotten everything I've taught you. What am I going to do with you, Devlin?'
'I don't know.' His voice was breathless with excitement.
'I'll have to think of something, won't I?'
'Yes, mistress.'
She took his cock in her hand, circling it with her fist. With the tip of her other hand's forefinger she massaged the tear of fluid that had formed into the dappled smoothness at the end of his circumcised cock. He could not help but moan. It felt so sensitive.
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